


salt in your veins/the devil beside you

by xylodemon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Theon Greyjoy forgot the pay the iron price, and one time he did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	salt in your veins/the devil beside you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/profile)[**asoiafkinkmeme**](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/) , and the prompt _Theon, sehnsucht: the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what/a yearning for a far, familiar, non-earthly land one can identify as one's home_.
> 
> Contains very vague spoilers for _ADwD_.

[Robb]

 

Robb pushes Theon back into the furs, one hand at Theon's hip and the other sliding up Theon's chest, his fingers brushing Theon's nipple, tracing the arc of Theon's ribs. He nudges his thigh between Theon's legs, rubbing it against Theon's cock, and he drags his mouth over Theon's throat, open and wet, hides a kiss behind Theon's ear.

He curves his hand over Theon's jaw, presses his thumb to Theon's lips, murmuring _oh, oh_ against Theon's cheek, and Theon knots his fingers in Robb's hair, lets Robb kiss him softer than he should, swollen lips and slick, slick tongue.

 

[Jon]

 

Jon kisses the same way he spars, hard and ruthless, rough determination and sullen pride. He shoves his tongue into Theon's mouth, his thumb bruising the hinge of Theon's jaw, and he sucks the swell of Theon's lip, uses his teeth, digging his hand into Theon's hip as Theon tastes blood, grunting as he pushes Theon back against the armory wall. 

He twists his hand into Theon's breeches, curls it around Theon's cock; he rests his other hand at the hollow of Theon's throat, eyes dark as he presses too hard, and Theon shudders, fists his hand in Jon's sleeve.

 

[Catelyn]

 

Winterfell is cold and bleak and old; Lady Stark doesn't belong there, hidden by bruised skies and sudden summer snows. Her hair is too red and her eyes are too blue, unlike the grey people born in the north, and her laughter is warm and bright, not yet frozen in the back of her throat.

Theon wants to kiss the pale curve of her neck, slip his hands underneath her gown. He watches her from the corner of his eye, and he flushes when she smiles at him, heat blooming in his cheeks, burning along the line of his jaw.

 

[the sea]

 

The maesters believe everyone has salt in their blood, but Theon has more than most -- he came from the sea, from iron and rock, a kraken rising from the water, reaching like the creature on his father's banners, proud and writhing, finally returning home.

Pyke grows larger in the distance, thrusting up through the waves like a spear; Theon leans on the rail and tries to remember the things Winterfell forced him to forget, the rough creak of wood and the sharp snap of billowing sails, salt air touching his face and a deck rolling and pitching beneath his feet.

 

[Asha]

 

Theon remembers his sister as she'd been before their father's folly, a girl with a leather thong holding her long hair at her neck, her skirts in her hands as she crossed the slippery, narrow bridges between Pyke's towers.

She sits at their father's side, her hair cropped and her eyes bright, her mouth red and wet, flush with wine, laughing throaty and warm at something Victarion says. Theon stabs at his food, meat turning to ash in his mouth; he wants to choke her, wants to fuck her, wants to forget her as easily as she has forgotten him.

 

[The King in the North]

 

Theon sees Robb's face in the heavy shadows, hears his rough and rumbling laugh in the squeaking, scratching noises the rats make as they scurry behind the walls. He burns and throbs and aches, starving without his skin, and he wonders which is worse -- a headless wolf with a crown on its head or a broken boy who once was a kraken but now can't remember his name. 

His teeth are ragged and cracked, still sharp enough to slice his lip. Salt and iron spread on his tongue, and he wonders when winter will come.

He is dead, cannot die.

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely continued in another story: [the cold, the dark, the silence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/397107).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Belong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9640928) by [SelkieWife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieWife/pseuds/SelkieWife)




End file.
